


Ancora Qui

by SwagnessChace



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bounty Hunter Geralt, Dancer Jaskier, Dubious Consent, Emotional Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt marries Jaskier, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kidnapping, M/M, Marriage, Non-Consensual Touching, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Singer Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Wild West AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:13:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwagnessChace/pseuds/SwagnessChace
Summary: Jaskier, Sugar's renowned singer and Geralt's fiance, has gone missing. All Geralt wants to do is buy a mansion on the coast and marry the one he loves. The bounty hunter has to find him first, and in this wild west au, it will be certainly be a trial.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	1. Clouds in the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Big shout out to my good friend @KitKatWinchester (on here at tumblr) who Beta'd this for me!

Nights were cold, but never unbearable. Geralt had no need for a winter coat other than his usual canvas duster that covered the armory he carried with him everywhere he went. It was darker than coal out, but Geralt was sure of his direction. The snow had stopped falling days ago, though it still piled up to his mare’s ankles. Footsteps that had freshly displaced said snow lit his way. The small pebbling trails of snow that jutted from those steps indicated his target was in a rush. They, however, were on foot. It would only be minutes before he caught up.  
They weren’t his usual type of target, as he acquired their names himself instead of having them handed to him. He also wasn’t confident in their knowledge of his would-be inquiry, but that was a risk he had to take.  
The footsteps had teetered off to behind a tree, and he pulled Roach to a halt. Adjusting his stalker cap, his eyes raked the area past the brim. Golden eyes found every movement made in the shadows, though none of the movement had called for hostility.  
“It would be wiser to stay in the open.” It was true. A bough of human size couldn’t guarantee a good vantage against an enemy. And while Geralt was confident of the pair’s every movement, their field of vision was questionable. Though, no one immerged from the hiding spot. The man sighed, gloved hand taking off his cap. He waited till his visible annoyance disbursed from the chilled air. “I just have a few questions. I’m not here to cause a scene.” At that, the older of the two men stepped out, barrel of his shotgun raised. Geralt’s hand went up in a small gesture of surrender while the other stayed rested on his thigh.  
“We didn’t do nothin’!” He was burly-- burlier than Geralt, and truly posed no threat despite the small standoff. His amber gaze flashed back to the trunk before finding the wide green eyes once more. His brow raised, and the man simply blinked back. After a second, he understood, calling to the tree. “Barry! Come on out ‘ere.” Said boy walked out, pulling his flimsy coat closer to his chest.  
“Terrance and Billy Shaffer?” The younger boy shook from the cold, but also flailed his head to confirm their identities. Terrance let out a long, brown spit to fall between the brothers and Geralt.  
“What’s it to ya, witcher?” Geralt’s title was practically growled, but the bounty hunter was used to it. Years being a part of the Witcher Hunting Guild brought out the worst in people. Not because of his deeds, necessarily, but because most people lose loved ones to the witchers. People they didn’t expect to be criminals, or the people were criminals themselves, and they couldn’t handle watching a fellow joker falling.  
“Billy, you have information on a man--” Terrance gave a forced laugh, jostling the barrel in the witcher’s direction.  
“You’ve got sand, boy. You talk to me,” he spat. It was clear Terrance must have done something in his past, but it was noble, this charade. Billy must be innocent, and that older brother of his was protecting him. In Geralt’s eyes, Terrance was free to do as he pleased until his name was printed on a warrant, and handed to the witcher. Though, the man also didn’t take kindly to hostility and disrespect of this level. His eyes never faltered off Billy’s small frame. The boy was in his late teens, but he seemed ganglier than most kids his age.  
“You have information--” The older brother took a step forward while raising the gun’s sight to his eye. Still, Geralt didn’t take his eye off the boy, but he didn’t need to. He let off two shots that hit their target easier than a mosquito finding blood. The first found Terrance’s knee, throwing one of the man’s hands off the rifle to catch himself as he toppled. The other found the hand still wrapped around the gun. The fingers quickly unraveled in shock, and he didn’t know which injury to scream about. Billy flinched at the echo of the shots, not yet processing the damage done to his kin. His eyes were fixated on Geralt’s, however, and they remained locked, only hearing intense swearing being spewed by his side without seeing his brother grovel.  
The witcher holstered the gun back to his hip, flipping the duster back over the holster. He was the talk of the North, known for his speed and accuracy with his side arms. He blatantly ignored the screaming, eyes boring down on the boy.  
“You have information on a man. Julian Pankratz. Also known as Jaskier.” Geralt could practically hear lighthearted singing following him even without the mention of his name. It took everything in him not to think of the cornflower eyes that haunted him at any given moment, especially now.  
Billy flinched when his brother pawed at his trousers, yelling to help shoot the witcher straight off his mare. Billy did not listen, keeping Geralt in his sights. Again, just as when he became visible, he shook with both fear and agreement. The witcher barely needed to tilt his head in question for the boy to start talking.  
“H-he’s that fella who works at Sugar’s. By Novigrad. He’s the one with the,” he stopped to clear his throat. Even now, when the only light source was the piss-poor oil lamp they stuffed behind the tree and the stars above, the hunter could see the boy’s blush. “He’s the one with the nice get-up. The laced Dandy who has the voice sweeter than a woman.”  
“I’m already aware. I need to know where he is.”  
“I-I don’t rightly know. Sir! I don’t know, sir. He gots in trouble with Sugar for hidin’ tips. She don’ really like that. I’m sure he was taken on the ride down the Pontar.” Gerralt cursed under his breath, though the cold made it visible to the boy, who flinched at the sight. “I didn’… I’m sorry, sir, I--” Geralt cut him off, not intending to reprimand the kid for not being a part of it all.  
The witcher had thought back to times Jaskier had mentioned ‘the ride down the Pontar’. It was a punishment for the girls that worked for Sugar, but he was sure he’d never get the same treatment. Not because he was a man in the burlesque and frisky business, but because he was Sugar’s favorite. No one really knew what happened on the trip, but the women who came back never spoke of what happened. Most rarely stay after that as it is, being sold to different businesses across the continent.  
Why hadn’t Geralt gone to Sugar’s immediately, after finding out Jaskier had disappeared? Well, it was simple. Witchers weren’t really allowed anywhere, let alone Sugar’s. And it was known throughout the workers that Jaskier had a lover. That lover was Geralt.  
He had shown up three years ago, looking to blow off steam. That was when any witcher was allowed in her establishment. A dark corner sheltered him, though many ladies in all states of dress passed by. He would have let his eye wander if it weren’t for the man singing in the corner, fingers dancing across the piano near the stage. The normal pianist sat next to him on the bench, but his head was thrown back, simply enjoying the singer throwing cares to the wind. After his set, he started walking to the bar, brown hair being thrown back onto the rest of his mop of hair, sweat making it easier to throw it back. His pants were as blue as the sky on a bright day, and tighter than any pair of trousers the witcher had ever seen. White lace dusted the pants, and his shirt was half-hazardly tucked into them. Though, he barely needed the shirt by how translucent it was. It was unlaced past his pecs, and the pattern reminded Geralt of a women’s ‘fancy blouse’ found in the ‘progressive’ catalogue of the next town over.  
The singer had noticed the witcher in the corner, bringing a class of gin as he introduced himself. Jaskier raved to everyone that night, and while he never told Sugar herself, she always had a way of knowing. Geralt had showed up every night the rest of that week to see the young man. After that, Geralt always stopped whenever he could, though Jaskier knew the witcher couldn’t always stick around. He was a witcher. A bounty hunter. Traveling was simply a part of the job. Though, they had seen each other enough to fall in love. Hell, two years into Geralt sneaking Jaskier out of the House of Pleasure, they became more acquainted than either was with their own family.  
It had gotten so serious, that Geralt proposed.  
If Jaskier was taken because he was hiding money, then it would take years for Geralt to forgive himself. The witcher had promised to take him away for good, planning to pay Sugar to make sure she wouldn’t try and send a different witcher after them if she had turned sour. She was known to do such things in the past. And Jaskier was her favorite, rightfully so. After Jaskier was free to do with his life as he pleased, they were going to live a clean life. One without other people, dead or alive. It would be just the two of them, and of course Roach. Jaskier would be able to sleep at night, not needing to please anyone or worry about one of the girls being roughed. Geralt could leave hunting behind, only needing to keep one life in his hands. One which he would protect with everything in his being.  
Terrance reached once more for his rifle, and Geralt’s colt was aimed once more at the man on the ground. Billy finally blinked the witcher’s gaze away, bending down to hold his brother back. Billy focused on putting pressure on his brother’s kneecap, but he looked back up to the hunter, noticing he hadn’t left yet.  
“Who would I need for more information?” His low voice rumbled, creating just as much of an echo as his shots did.  
“Walter Shultz. He’s one o’ the strongmen at Sugar’s an’ the one to do her errands.” Geralt nodded, holstering his colt once more. His gloved hand went to readjust his brim once again, shifting in the saddle to warn Roach he planned to leave. His gaze was fixed on his bandolier as he adjusted that as well, though he spoke to Billy once more.  
“Going in that direction,” he nodded towards the tree they were hiding behind earlier, “will take fifteen minutes off walking to Hagge. The main trail would be a poor decision considering your brother’s injuries.” The witcher clicked his tongue at his mare, and the two continued through the woods, displacing the snow before anyone else.  
It doesn’t matter how many people it will take to get to him, Geralt will find his flower. Jaskier will be safe and in his arms again, and the witcher is prepared to cut down anyone in his way. Warrant or not.


	2. Business in Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get some Eskel, bounties and clues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by @KitKatWinchester (same @ on tumblr). Also check out her marvel story here on Ao3 :)  
> My Tumblr is @crowleyellestair I write reader inserts for multiple fandoms

Flotsam was a two days ride from Hagge, but Geralt always took more than he could chew, taking more than one bounty sheet with him at a time. Vesemir, the dealer of said bounties, told him countless times to take only two at a time. It was more than others got, the old man forcing Lambert and Eskel to take only one at a time, but Geralt knew he purposefully turned an eye while the white-haired hunter went through the pile. Most bounties stated: ‘dead or alive’, but that was the thing about Geralt. He never brought them in alive. He had a brutal reputation, especially after he dislodged Renfri and her gang from this life back in Blavakin.  
Back then, he never cared to learn about his bounties, taking them in alive if they didn’t struggle. But she struggled, and showed Geralt that, despite the law, not every bounty was black and white. Now, Geralt does a thorough investigation on every bounty he receives, making sure they deserve the bounty. If they do, they die. If they don’t, the bounty is burned. That doesn’t mean that the prey’s name is off the Judge’s radar, but it keeps them alive for a little longer, until the Judge notices the overdue trial.  
With only empty husks to lug around, it was easier to take more than one bounty at a time, being able to fill a cart before heading back to Kaer Morhen. So, he rode to Flotsam despite it being in the opposite direction of Sugar’s. A bounty called for a carriage thief’s neck, but he had another neck in Flotsam as well.  
Having so many bounties threw even Lambert and Eskel off his trail. However, Eskel was clever, and knew Geralt almost as well as Jaskier did. Which, as sad as it was, was better than he knew himself. Despite being a bounty hunter, the man has made allies, and those few people were let in on the secret that was his proposal. Especially the lovers’ mutual friend, Shani. It wasn’t common for a woman to be a doctor, but she was certainly impressive.  
The redhead had caught word of the disappearance, so she was the first person Geralt asked. She was close to the young man, always keeping an eye while Geralt was gone. It wasn’t often, but Jaskier had a history of getting in fights with patrons when the strongmen let the girls be roughed under their ‘watchful’ eye. Shani also housed the singer often enough for Geralt to think he left to lay low, but no cigar.  
Luck was on his side, as the good doctor had rounded up some info on the strongmen, sending word to Eskel, who so happened to know he was near Hagge. Eskel rode day and night to meet up with the White Wolf, telling him the news.  
Hagge housed one Tiana Shultz, mother to Walter Shultz.  
Being a witcher didn’t put him on the side of the law, Geralt often having to strong arm folks to get what he needed. The marshal had been called in, but after spilling a yarn of a kidnapped noble, everyone became pliant for the promise of Geralt putting in a good word for them. For witchers to be treated just as poorly as outlaws, it was a positive outcome. The hunter had gotten what he wanted, finding a letter from Walter to his mother, posted from Flotsam.  
The post takes days to get to its destination, but despite that, Flotsam was on the Pontar, going East away from Redania. Away from Sugar’s. It was the hunter’s best bet.  
“You’re gonna share that bounty, right?” Eskel’s deep voice brought Geralt out of his second-guessing. His plan wasn’t the best, but he had his brother at his side for now. He knew that if he couldn’t find Walter Shultz in this town, Eskel would ride back towards Novigrad while Geralt followed down the Pontar. The Wolf smirked, fetching the bounty slip from his back pocket.  
“You sound like Lambert,” he grits. Despite the weather a couple of nights prior, the sun beat down harder than rain. He had shed the duster a while back, along with his black brimmed hat. A silver button up and black vest was all he donned, though the small silver buttercup broach placed on the vest gave more confidence to him than any fancy piece of clothing or layering could. Jaskier had given it to him the same year they met, and the witcher wore it with pride, close to his heart.  
His gloved fingers pushed white, sweat slicked hair out of his eyes, and he leaned over, offering the slip. Eskel flipped his brown poncho over his shoulder, arm reaching out to accept it. Geralt raised a brow at the bright red cotton button-down he wore, but Eskel rolled his eyes.  
“I’m trying something new since ditching that vest.” His smirk turned into a grin, though he hid it well.  
“The red vest, I’m assuming.” Eskel chuckled, unfolding the flyer to check over the details.  
“Now you sound like Lambert. Why does my fashion concern you so much?” Geralt rolled his eyes, rubbing the sweat left on his glove onto his riding pants.  
“Well, if we’re on a hunt, I don’t want to be blinded. I’m simply checking that you’re headstrong in your decision.” The scarred man threw his head back, letting out a hearty laugh. He composed himself, barely, before wagging his pointer finger at his fellow witcher.  
“That’s what the poncho is for.” The Wolf nodded with slightly pursed lips and raised brows. They continued on in silence. Golden eyes roamed over their surroundings, noting the approaching town in the distance. Another fifteen minutes at most. They had exited the forest a while back, leaving only fields in between. At this point, the ground was only damp, the hot sun having melted the white layer away.  
Nothing could grow through the fickle weather of late autumn, the boys being able to see the cold, roaring water of the Pontar even from the main road. He looked to his left, his brother flipping the page of the book he carried. Always reading, even on the road. His gaze roamed to his right, having nothing better to do, and not wanting to wallow in worry.  
But his heart practically stopped. All the air in his lungs left him as the sun shone over a familiar face all but prancing next to him. Jaskier jogged in the distance, his rounded face split with a large smile. It plumped his cheeks that were pierced with dimples, and gave just a slight natural innocence to him, despite knowing the hardships the young man had faced so far in his life. His large blue eyes reflected the beam of light that ignited his form into existence. His shirt was simple and cotton, but it was loose, just how he liked them. His favorite yellow scarf was loosely knotted at his neck. He looked to be laughing, winking at the witcher a few feet away. Jaskier twirled every few steps, beckoning Geralt over with an alluring hand before it went into his flopping hair.  
It only took Geralt blinking for the image of Jaskier to disappear. His eyes snapped forwards, his leather-bound hands squeaking as he clenched them into fists, tightening his hold on the reigns. The hunter had to close his eyes to focus on regaining his composer. It wasn’t unusual for the man to see his lover, but the loving visage remained behind Geralt’s closed eyelids, not manifesting in an open field. Sure, he would love to reintroduce his flower to places such as this, but it hurt to see him. To have his mind trick him into thinking he wasn’t missing, and that he was happily at his side. His jaw ticked as they approached the town, looking over to Eskel, who had already put the book away.  
Flotsam wasn’t as advanced as many towns in Redania or in the South, but it was notable. It was organized, having a post office, saloon, business alley and marshal’s office. The dirt of the main road was well tread, women having to lift their skirts, if they weren’t already tailored high, to cross it. Men sat on porches scattered across the town, judging eyes following the two witchers as women flocked into the closest building. It was commonplace for them to be treated as lawless trash, so their minds didn’t linger on the scowls they received. They made their way to the tavern at the edge of town, seemingly grabbing the attention of everyone in Flotsam. Dawn had crested only an hour ago, the tavern being empty as the two bounty hunters entered.  
“Two ales, please.” Eskel took his hat off, tossing it on the closest table. The owner stood on the bar, seemingly fixing a rundown oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. He had yet to turn, too engrossed in his work.  
“We’re closed. Wait a few ‘ours and we be servin’ breakfast.” Geralt plopped down at the same table that Eskel had discarded his hat. He raised a hand, as if to offer the bounty to Eskel. Geralt hadn’t needed the money, already having saved up enough to buy a mansion on the coast. Servants and all. They’d wear matching uniforms of the pastel variety, just because Jaskier enjoyed the color scheme. There could be enough room for other girls at Sugar’s if any wanted to follow.  
Eskel nodded his thanks before walking to the bar, and leaning against it. The tender gave him a quick glance before doing a double-take, almost flinching off the counter. With his poncho still flipped over his shoulder, anyone could see his wolf medallion hanging off his neck. His hair was tucked behind his ear, giving the tender a good view of his scarred cheek. While he was self conscious about it, it was a good way to shock people upon first encounter, throwing them off for interrogation. Eskel didn’t follow Geralt too closely with his background check regiment, but he did like to give every bounty a fair chance to talk things out and make it as smooth as possible, always putting in a good word for those who seemed reformed and pliant.  
“What a’ ya here for, witcher?” The bald bartender stumbled as he made his way off the bar. His hands nervously ran over the apron on his thighs before putting the bar between himself and his new patrons. He hadn’t even noticed Geralt yet.  
“Information. I’m looking for a large man. About your size, in fact.” The end of Eskel’s lip went up in a fake reassuring grin. “The name he grew up with was Dani Hjalm, but he often went by Powder Hjalm in recent years.” Said man started to shift in his place behind the counter, one hand reaching up to play with the end of his mustache, while the other stayed hidden behind the bar. His eyes stayed plastered to the bar as well, telling the two hunters he was ready for action. Though, Geralt didn’t make a move for his holstered gun, letting Eskel handle it.  
“What did this ‘Hjalm’ do?”  
“Well, he tried to steal a farmer’s plow horse, gunning him down when he met resistance. Farmer’s wife came out to help, but Hjalm, the bastard, shot her down too.” Eskel reached out to the peanuts that were left in a little bowl on the bar, and broke it open, simply watching the bald man.  
“Haven’ heard a’ him.” Eskel nodded as he popped the snack into his mouth.  
“A shame. I had a proposition. If he were to hand himself over to me, he would have the right to a fair trial. Maybe he had to kill that farmer for his mare, how are we to know? If he doesn’t turn himself in, however, I’m going to be pushed to use lethal force.” The bartender swallowed loudly, the forearm of the hidden hand twitching. Finally, his eyes met Eskel’s, but they also flicked over to the door. Geralt sat before the door, however, and it set Hjalm off. He bent down to grab whatever weapon was under the counter, but before he could straighten, Eskel had a silver bullet pumped into his chest.  
Witchers could be spotted by two things. The first was the medallion that showed which outpost they belonged to, each brand of the guild specializing in certain types of bounties. The other was their weapon. While different witchers branded different weapons, they all had one thing in common: silver. Silver headed arrows, throwing knives, and bullets. Some use explosives, something Lambert specialized in, though they weren’t your run of the mill dynamite, and very distinguishable.  
Eskel flipped the revolver in his hand for a quick cool down before holstering it. He looked to Geralt as he stood, walking to the other side of the bar. He held an empty cup in offering, but the White Wolf declined, getting up as well.  
“I’ll grab the Marshal.” Eskel poured his own drink, stepping over Hjalm to grab the foam scrapper from the other side of the bar.  
“Heading to the inn after that?” Geralt gave a curt nod, and quickly headed back out to their horses. It seemed to him that everyone on the street knew something had transpired by the number of eyes on him, but he quietly and efficiently mounted Roach, and pointed her in the direction of the jail.  
-  
“Witcher,” the Marshal sighed. He threw down the worn book onto his desk as he leaned back in his chair. His hands went to adjust his belt before letting out another huff.  
“Marshall. Imperial Saloon. A bounty was hit.” The older man’s thumb tweaked at his eyebrow as he let out a curse. Geralt pulled out a worn parchment, folding it in half before flashing it to the man at the desk. “Another search has me looking for this man. He should have passed through town a couple days ago.”  
It was a worn sketch of Jaskier and Geralt. They had been drunk one night in Novigrad, celebrating their friend Zoltan’s birthday. He was a short man, but knew the ins and outs of every town, being known for his obsessive and dubious gambling. Geralt never made a move against him, knowing the money he rarely won went to his family up by Kaedwen. Geralt often dropped off the money himself on his way back to headquarters. One of the smaller man’s cousins came to visit, and was very skilled in the art field, though he could never make money off it. He had captured the moment, giving it to Geralt as he left. Jaskier was sat upon the witcher’s lap, passionately motioning over the table to someone, brows raised and smile wide. He wore Geralt’s vest, too large even for him, who hid a somewhat muscular body. Geralt was draped over the back of the chair, hiding a smile in the pint raised to his lips. His eyes crinkled at the edges, focusing only on the man in his lap. The edge of the page was worn by him often rubbing his thumb on the sides, looking at the photo every night. A fold that cut down the middle was defined enough where if one were to put enough pressure, the picture could rip easily. He would never let anyone see the other side, where his visage lied.  
The marshal looked at it for a brief moment before looking back at the hunter. A fake smile spread under his beard before he leaned forward.  
“I haven’t seen him.”  
“Are you sure?” While Geralt would understand apprehension to help in a personal investigation, he was sure he worded it as one would for a normal bounty. The Marshal flicked his eyes back to the picture, his left eye giving a small twitch before looking back to Geralt just as fast.  
“I’m positive.” The White Wolf folded it the other way and gently placed it back into his vest pocket. His curtness sent Geralt’s mind reeling. What was the twitch for? What did this Marshal know? A past dalliance was possible, but Jaskier had been a part of Sugar’s for half a decade.  
“The Saloon,” he reminded. Geralt turned on his heel, walking out of the office. He wouldn’t get anywhere by antagonizing local forces except jail, despite the agreement law enforcement has with his guild. It would be a long shot, but he would have to try the inn.  
-  
Night was upon Flotsam, and Eskel had finally entered the inn. He easily sought out their room, getting in without any trouble. Geralt was sat at the window, the room’s lamp cold and unlit. He was hunched over, eyes darting to every moving shadow. Eskel tossed his hat onto the bed before following the item, laying over the blanket.  
“Nothing with the Innkeeper?” He received an annoyed grunt in response. If Sugar was smart, she wouldn’t have her best strongman displaying his hostage at every inn, but they had to have stopped somewhere. Even a strongman needs to rest. Geralt heard Eskel’s back pop excessively, and he spared a questioning glance in his direction. “Ah, it’s that Marshal. He’s a real pain in the ass. We have to stay till tomorrow night.” That caught the wolf’s attention, straightening his back.  
“Why?” The brunette let out a small grunt as he stretched out.  
“Apparently there’s not enough to pay for the bounty, so he has to ride to get the rest.”  
“When did he leave?”  
“What?”  
“When did he leave?” Geralt got up grabbing the duster he had draped over his pack. Eskel sat up as well, a questioning gaze following his every move.  
“We suspect the Marshal now?” Geralt spared him a glance, but dropped eye contact as he checked his ammunition count.  
“I showed him a picture of him.” Eskel pursed his lips, giving a knowing nod.  
“You want back up? He hadn’t been close to leaving when I left a couple minutes ago.” Geralt shook his head. Tailing someone was always easier with the least amount of people needed. The witcher all but flew out the door to the stables in the back of the inn. He never unsaddled Roach, which he felt guilty about, but was now thankful for.  
He hadn’t moved to the main road yet, having a good view of the office from his vantage point. It took a handful of minutes before the Marshal came barreling out of the office, practically throwing himself onto his horse. He rode out of town at a full gallop, but that wouldn’t be a problem for the witcher. He followed, watching from a distance, only coming closer once they reached the forest on the other side of Flotsam, headed even more East towards Vergen. He was able to ride closer, hiding himself in the tree line.  
Before they could hit the new town, they veered south, coming upon a small cabin at the edge of the forest. The cabin had a vantage point of everything, so the witcher stayed in the trees. He couldn’t make much out, and only one flicker of light was in the small house. The porch wasn’t pointed towards him, but he could see the side of it, and a man rocking on a chair that was perched on it. There was a rifle across his lap, and he raised it when the Marshal galloped up. He dropped the gun once the marshal said something, but the witcher was too far to hear what he said. Much was said between the two, but nothing indicated anything until the man on the porch pointed to the ground a couple feet out.  
There was a raised patch of dirt and a shovel sticking out.


	3. Baby in a box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by KitKatWinchester
> 
> Major TW - Burried Alive / dubcon

The room wasn’t the cleanest, as Geralt could see the dust that happened to fly through the ray of sunlight that wasn’t stopped by the drapes. He was surprised to see anything at all, as he usually woke before dawn, but his body was too relaxed to focus on its internal timer. The hands that gently dug into his back didn’t help his alertness either.  
Geralt was spread-eagle over Jaskier, head resting at his collar bone, his hands now awake and brushing the younger man’s hips. The brunette was barely covered by the light quilt on the bed, only a thigh to his lower abdomen being hidden. Geralt had no such cover, his naked backside being shown off to the room. The witcher tilted just slightly so his nose could catch the scent of stale sweat and the natural essence of the man under him. His five o’clock shadow caught against the singer’s chest hair, but if he wasn’t busy scenting the man, he’d indulge himself in rubbing his cheek over those curls. It was something he was embarrassed about, but couldn’t help. It was a part of Jaskier, and he loved it just by that reason alone.   
Barely calloused fingers rubbed into a certain knot next to Geralt’s shoulder blade which made him grunt. Jaskier chuckled in response before digging his thumb into it, working and unraveling the spot. When the pain subsided, Geralt placed a soft kiss where his lips had been hovering before looking up, and meeting a bright blue gaze. Those eyes. They held a smile just for him, and it made him melt further. The soft grin which accompanied was bright enough to dissipate the shadows that followed the hunter everywhere he went.   
“Hey,” was barely pushed between them. Jaskier was whispering, but it still cracked slightly. His hand that wasn’t already occupied reached up to brush white strand of hair out of Geralt’s eyes and behind his ear. Geralt snatched the hand as it retreated, and he brought it to his lips, placing soft kisses over the pads of his fingers. He linked their hands afterwards, letting them drop onto the hairy chest below.   
“Morning.” Geralt flinched, his voice coming out gruff, and louder than the whisper he had meant it to be. Jaskier chuckled again, his smile widening.  
“You know, diamonds and gold are often found in the rough.” To that, Geralt snorted, and Jaskier shifted, his head turned so he could look out the window. “Of course, countless other things can be found like iron and coal. Though, I suppose coal is a bit rough itself, huh? Regardless, I love your voice.” He blinked, side eyeing Geralt when he opened them again. “Even if it does rattle me out of my morning euphoria.” The smirk playing at his lips told the witcher of his sarcasm. The hand at his back brushed over a large scar that cut over both shoulder blades, and that soft smile returned. “Nothing could ruin waking up to you.”   
“You’re beautiful,” he blurted. Jaskier continued to smile, but roses started to dust over his cheeks. That always made Geralt curious. How could he flush after saying such things to Geralt only a second prior. And it wasn’t a lie, the singer was stunning. The witcher had heard many people tell the young man so, but yet he only had the reaction anytime he opened his mouth. Jaskier blinked again, and he was gazing once more out the window when they opened.   
“If you could go anywhere on the Continent, where would it be?” It was so soft and vulnerable that Geralt was scared to answer. He immediately knew how he would, and whenever he was near his lover, it seemed he was forced to tell the truth. He swallowed, trying to mellow out his voice.  
“Anywhere you were is where I’d go.” Geralt watched as Jaskier’s smile fell, and his heart started to pound. He could hear the wet sound his breathing took, and watched as he started to blink faster. A tear slipped down his cheek a moment later, and Geralt was quick to catch it with his thumb. Jaskier didn’t look at him, he just kept looking out the window.  
“If…If I went to the coast, would you follow? Would you go with me? No Sugar. No bounties. Just…us.” Geralt rose, perching himself on his elbows, but Jaskier still refused to look at him. His eyes closed for a long moment, keeping in anything else that threatened to fall.  
“Yes. Anything to be with you.” The singer’s eyes flew open to stare at him. Another tear did escape, but Geralt caught that one too. “If you’d have me.” Jaskier practically flew to meet Geralt’s lips. He could taste the salt of the freely falling water, but he didn’t care. Nothing could turn him off from the man under him. He’d seen him at his lowest in their first year of meeting, and he couldn’t even think about leaving then.  
That kiss echoed through him, even now. He could still taste the salt through his anxiousness of trying to work out what that lump of dirt was. Geralt knew the girls came back, as he held Jaskier while the man tried to work out what happened to them. They always came back changed. Shells of who they were, their spirits finally broken.   
It made Geralt wonder, quickly, if he was too late. Sure, he had been a week behind the pair, but much could happen in an hour, let alone a week. After everything was said and done, whether Jaskier stays with him, or leaves disgusted at Geralt’s lack of protection, he still hoped Jaskier would sing. That husked voice that shifted to be lighter than air once he gets going. That voice that men and women alike wish they could possess. That voice that rings in his heart, encouraging him throughout the days, beckoning him back after weeks apart.

When there are clouds in the skies and they are grey  
You may be sad, but remember they'll all soon pass away  
Oh Darling, after the showers  
The sun will be shining  
He hoped he would still sing.  
Geralt hoped he was alive to sing.

If a man was posted to guard the cabin, and in turn the rustled patch, that means something was able to get in and retrieve something, or the thing could get out. Maybe there was nothing in the ground. Jaskier could easily be in the cottage, or not at the location at all. Maybe the Marshal had known the bounty. Either way, something was going on, but he couldn’t risk getting closer. He’d have to simply sit and wait it out.  
An hour. Geralt remained in the shrubbery for an hour while the two men at the cottage argued, but in the end, nothing came of it. He caught a break, though, as both men went inside. The witcher turned, bringing Roach a foot deeper into the wood, loosely tying her to a breakaway branch. It was an understanding they had, the mare knowing that it meant to stay put, but could easily come to aid if her master called. He shed his duster, thinking that despite the shine of his guns and bandolier, the stars couldn’t give enough light to give him away.  
The only window on the side facing him was dim, but it was a risk he had to take. He stayed low, trying to get to cover as quickly as possible while crouching. He crossed the way, stopping to gain his bearings under the window. Now, he could hear them talking, but it seemed they were playing cards. Geralt remained under the window, trying to hear anything important, and perked when he heard the familiar voice of the Marshal curse and shout.  
“Damnit, Walter! I don’t wanna play cards if you’re just gonna cheat.” He could hear a chuckle in response, but it was soon drowned out by blood rushing to his ears. He had to sit and breath for a moment, trying to even out his heart rate. Walter. Walter Shultz. Sugar’s strongman in charge of Jaskier’s ‘Pontar trip’. It forced Geralt to move, rounding to the porch, trying to get a better look at that pile.  
His heart started to pound once more as he was faced with the familiar sight of a grave. No headstone, but the fresh dirt still had a small pile next to it where the shovel was jutting from. It seemed a little short to be Jaskier size, as his flower was just as tall as he, but comfort didn’t matter to a dead man.   
Geralt’s head snapped to the house as he heard another shout. He shrunk back just past the wall, under the window once more. The Marshal came into view, all but stomping over to the shovel, Walter shouting from inside the house,  
“Just leave him!”  
“Didn’ you hear me, you lame bastard? The witcher, the same one Suga’ warned you about, is sniffing around.” He could hear Walter grumble before the Marshal demanded he repeat it.  
“I said, it don’t matter! He’s sniffin’ ‘round Flotsam, not here. Then-- then we’d have a problem.” He heard Walter sigh, but didn’t hear any other movement. The Marshal’s back was to the cottage, and Geralt took a chance. The witcher moved up onto the porch, crouching and inching towards the door. When he was close enough, he peered in.  
There was a large space, but clearly a hallway that led to at least two more rooms. Walter was sat near the door, but he faced away, hunched over the table where they must have played cards. He was still grumbling to himself, though Geralt hadn’t really cared for what was uttered. The man looked back to check on the Marshal, who made significant work on his digging already, but completely unaware of what was unfolding behind him. Geralt stood, carefully walking up behind Walter.  
He unholstered his .45, raising it up past his shoulder. He had a death grip on the barrel, and would need strength to knock him out with a single hit, but with Jaskier on the line, he easily found it. The gun came down, slicing through the air, and hitting Walter in the temple with the butt of the gun. Geralt’s other hand caught him as he was thrown to the side with the force of it. He gently laid him on the table in front of him, keeping the whole action in silence. He flipped the gun, clicking the ignition as he made his way to the backrooms. One quick glance out the door confirmed the Marshal was still digging, and he focused on the rooms.  
One seemed to be a well lived-in bedroom, with a pack and saddle bags. The desk had an unfinished letter to Sugar, confirming this to be Walter’s room. A quick check through the packs showed no sign of Jaskier. Geralt moved from that room to the next, only to have it be a restroom. There was one door left, and as foolish as it was, he prayed to every God he’d ever heard of that his lover-- his soon to be husband, was behind the door.   
When he opened the door, his heart stopped. On the bed laid Jaskier’s clothes, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Upon further inspection, it was a frilled white blouse he wore after a harder week. The shirt had most of the frill ripped from the collar, all remaining design hanging together by threads. Both the front and back had seemed as though he was dragged through the mud. He couldn’t see his jacket, which meant he was probably dragged through those cold nights in a thin shirt and tight riding pants. The bottoms of said pants were also somewhat torn, suggesting he hadn’t been afforded shoes throughout this trip. But it wasn’t until after his inspection and realization that he heard it. It was both foreign and familiar.   
It was Jaskier, wailing his heart out, though the Marshal’s voice tried to cut through it, telling him to quiet himself. It somewhat worked, though the sounds of full body sobs still rung through the air, cutting Geralt. The witcher felt like he was walking in slow motion as he made his way out back into the hallway. It only took a handful of steps before he could see out the front door. Before he witnessed something he was sure he could never forget.   
The Marshal’s hand was buried in sweat and dirt clumped hair. Jaskier was trying to stand, but he couldn’t find footing in the dark and gravel. The Marshal kept on pulling him closer to the house, and Jaskier finally tripped, being yanked through the gravel. His naked form kicked and screamed, but he couldn’t get any leverage, especially with his hands trying to relieve the pain he felt in his scalp. His skin glistened in the moonlight, clearly soaked in sweat, and most likely other bodily fluids. For a moment, the older man stopped.  
“I swear, boy! I will put you back in that damn box.” Jaskier stopped kicking, but his sobs still rang out in the night, and he tried to walk once more, simply to not be dragged naked through the rocks. The dragging continued until they made it to the steps to the porch, where the Marshal threw him to the wood. “Well, go on!” When Jaskier took too long to find strength to pull himself up, the man un-holstered the weapon at his side. Before he could aim, however, Geralt let off a shot. He could hear Jaskier yelp at the sound, and Geralt’s heart stopped when he couldn’t see Jaskier. The Marshal’s body fell, and everything was silent. Not even the singer’s cries were heard.   
Geralt’s body was numb, and he couldn’t force himself forward, worried that somehow-- somehow, he messed up. He could only take one step forward before his body refused to listen. He could feel his left cheek dampen, but he couldn’t raise an arm to check it. Geralt worked overtime to swallow around the lump in his throat so he could say something. Anything.  
Then, blue eyes slowly emerged over the lip of the porch, wide and wet.  
“G-Geralt?” That one sound snapped his mind back into his body and he all but barreled through the cottage, making it to Jaskier in seconds. He stumbled down the stairs, dropping to the gravel, and pulling the man into his lap. He cradled him as a mother would her babe. Jaskier let full body sobs leave him, but Geralt wouldn’t dare ask him to quiet down. The hand that cradled his head brought him to his collar, and his own visage was tilted down so his lips were connected with Jaskier’s temple. His other arm was full of the other man, trying to hug him while also keeping his body raised off the ground and in his kneeling lap. Jaskier’s hands were fisted in the back of the witcher’s vest, knuckles white. The singer continuously tried to say his fiancé’s name, but it always broke, and it would take minutes to recover.   
It didn’t matter how long it took, Geralt would never let Jaskier out of his arms again.   
-  
The witcher stepped over the threshold to his room, Jaskier held in his arms. The younger man was wrapped in Geralt’s duster, and had passed out on the ride back. Eskel had woken up the second the door hit the wall as the Wolf couldn’t stop it as his arms were full.   
“Holy shit.” He bolted off the bed, moving the covers he hadn’t gotten under for Geralt. He gently placed Jaskier on the bed, but his hand never left his hair. “Is he… any injuries?” Eskel was well aware of the possibilities and actions that the singer might have been forced through. He knew he wasn’t alright. The scarred witcher dealt in blood money, and he was sure that the sleeping figure had been through something terrible just at a glance.   
“No,” Geralt uttered. His voice was broken and small; something Eskel had never heard from his brother. He simply nodded in response and moved to grab his pack.  
“I have more than enough for a room.” Geralt nodded, glassy eyes watching as his brother closed the door behind him. He stood there, looking down at his lover for a long moment, trying to figure out what to do next. After a moment, the man decided to toe off his boots and remove his bandolier, as well as his holsters. He crawled into bed, gently lifting the singer so the witcher could wedge himself under him. He settled, back against the headboard, eyes on the door. The man knew he wouldn’t get sleep. So, there he sat, listening to his lover breathe, finger on the trigger, waiting for any intruder that tried to steal his flower once more.


End file.
